


Bright Defiance

by amyfortuna



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Anal Sex, Cousin Incest, Dom/sub Play, Healing Sex, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-13
Updated: 2016-01-13
Packaged: 2018-05-13 19:24:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,793
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5714239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amyfortuna/pseuds/amyfortuna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fingon has an, ah, interesting way of getting Maedhros to feel alive again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bright Defiance

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Very Good](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4883383) by [amyfortuna](https://archiveofourown.org/users/amyfortuna/pseuds/amyfortuna). 



Fingon arrived with the warm South wind, and with him came the Spring. Himring was newly-completed, towers gleaming in the light of the Sun, and Maedhros flattered himself that it must have made a fair sight for his cousin. 

But Fingon hardly seemed to spare the gleaming battlements and rising watchtowers a glance. His eyes were all for Maedhros. 

Maedhros found himself blushing and stammering over his words in a way he hadn't since they were very young and his Fingon had thrown himself into his arms and kissed him passionately one warm evening. It ill befitted the serious lord of a wartime border fortress to be acting so like a love-smitten youth, but he could hardly help it and only hoped it went unnoticed. 

Matters between them were somewhat unresolved. Fingon had rescued him in every way possible but the torments of Angband had left Maedhros unable to contemplate intimacy. Yet as time passed, he found he had begun longing for it again but was unwilling to ask. What if Fingon no longer found him lovely? He was scarred and shattered, in mind as well as body. Surely Fingon deserved better, deserved him at his best. 

The greetings were over, the evening meal was over, and Fingon was simply looking at him in the light of the hearthfire, in the small reception room where they had gone to talk together, alone and at peace at last. 

"What is it?" Maedhros said finally, when Fingon's glances became too obvious. 

"You," Fingon said slowly, as if turning the matter over in his mind, "need something from me." He paused, taking a breath. "I'm going to give it to you, but you must be willing to obey me." 

"Of course, Finno," Maedhros said, but his tone was entirely too light for the look in Fingon's eyes. He stepped forward and put his arms around Maedhros. 

"Listen to me," Fingon said. "I love you. And for that reason I'm going to push you beyond what you might find comfortable. If you cannot continue at any point, just tell me so, and we will stop." 

"I understand," Maedhros said, although his mind was racing and he felt that he only half understood where Fingon was going with this. The part that did understand was filled with wild excitement and a hint of fear.

"Good," Fingon said. There was a thick woollen blanket on the couch; he picked it up, along with a bottle of wine, putting both under his arm, and held out his hand. "Come. Let us go to the top of the highest battlement you have." 

Maedhros took his hand and felt warmth go through his whole body, at Fingon's touch. 

\----

When they reached the highest tower, after ascending a narrow stairway that spiralled up into darkness, Fingon carefully locked the door behind them. It was still bitterly cold and Maedhros was grateful that they were both wearing their fur cloaks and warm clothing underneath. There was a small covered shelter at the top of the tower, partly enclosed by windows, partly open to the elements at the edge of the battlement facing North, and the wind was whistling through it. There was no furniture of any kind in the tower, so Fingon laid the blanket down on the floor, and sat himself down upon it. 

"Come here," he said, beckoning, and Maedhros came, sitting down beside him. For a moment they said nothing, then Fingon unstoppered the wine bottle and took a long drink from it, passing it across to Maedhros afterward. 

"Tell me, cousin," Fingon said after Maedhros had drunk and set the bottle aside, "what did Morgoth do to you, all those years ago?" 

No one had ever asked. Assumptions had been made from Maedhros' injuries, and from the condition that Maedhros was in when Fingon found him, and even those assumptions were too horrible to contemplate for the healers, who had been ashen-faced and pale whenever Maedhros even hinted at the torment he had been put to. Even the trauma of the Ice and the subsequent Battle of the Lammoth was not sufficient to prepare the healers for this. 

Words stuck in Maedhros' throat, until Fingon reached for him, and gathered him into his arms, laying Maedhros' head down in his lap, as years ago, in more innocent times, they had lain together under the spreading trees of Valinor. Then the words came, slowly, and with many stops and starts. It was a long tale full of horrors, and Fingon's expression never changed through it, though at times he would gently stroke Maedhros' hair away from his face in comfort. 

Maedhros did not cry. It was more like the scrubbing clean of some terrible festering sore and the hurt he felt at saying the words was equalled only by the relief that at last he could say them. Even as he spoke the pain was fading, like Fingon was leeching it all from him, that it was all draining away and being borne on the South wind back up to Angband where it belonged. 

At last there was no more to tell. Half the night must have passed. The stars were in different places, Maedhros noticed, and wondered if he had been lying there for years with Fingon's hand on his head. 

Fingon bent and kissed him. The kiss was warm, full of life and passion. Maedhros responded to it, letting Fingon take the lead. Arousal sparked within him, warming him like a fire, and he began to burn with it, wanting to pull Fingon down on top of him, wanting to take back control. 

But a greater part of himself wanted to wait, to let Fingon take the lead, to yield and surrender gladly. A few more teasing kisses followed, and both of them were breathing hard, the white mist from their mouths ragged. 

Fingon pulled away a little. "Stand up," he said, and fumbled in the pockets of his tunic for something. "Go to the edge of the tower, facing North, and wait for me." 

Maedhros obeyed. There was a long pause in the darkness, when he fancied he could see a faint red glare from the far North, beyond the plains of Ard-Galen. A few watchfires burned far below, and the wind sighed through the trees. But other than that, all was still, save the bright stars overhead. 

"Place your hand on the stone of the wall," Fingon said, close behind him. Though it was ice-cold, Maedhros was quick to comply, holding tight to the wall. He could hear the smile in Fingon's voice when he spoke again. "We will test the skill of your craftsmen." 

The next touch was to his back, Fingon's hand sliding down his spine over his tunic. The touch at the waistband of the trousers he wore quickly followed, and he was not overly surprised when Fingon pulled them down. Immediately his hand slid between the cheeks of his arse, brushing over his hole in a way that made Maedhros catch his breath and steady himself against the wall. 

"Bend your knees a little," Fingon said, and Maedhros was quick to comply. The hand returned and this time it was slick with oil, pressing into him very gently. Maedhros bent forward, almost too eager for it, as though all of his body was waking up again after too long asleep. How he needed, how he wanted Fingon inside him. He would be very quick to find his release if Fingon was kind to him. 

The slicked fingers slid out of him and suddenly there was a hand at his erection - he could not tell if it was the same one or another - and Fingon was sliding into him, his hot length sending sparks of sensation all the way through Maedhros. Stars burned behind his eyelids, and he opened his eyes when he realised he had shut them. Fingon's hand was steady on his cock, and orgasm was building, building....

"What would you do to Morgoth?" Fingon said, almost casually, the hand on his cock slipping off, but the motion of Fingon's cock in him, thrusting slow and deep, never ceasing. "What will you do?"

Maedhros didn't have to think about it. "Send him back to the Void from whence he came, that my grandfather may be avenged, that my father may be avenged, that I may be avenged." His voice was low and fierce. 

"Don't tell me," Fingon said, and there was a pleased note in his voice for Maedhros' anger. "Tell him."

All the feelings dwelling inside Maedhros seemed to burst forth at once. Yes, this was what he wanted, what he needed, this was permission - and it was glorious, rage and light and arousal all in one. 

"Back to the Void with you!" His voice started out lower than he expected but at the last word Fingon thrust hard into him and it became a shout. "Destroyer of light, murderer and thief, you have no part of me, and never shall!" He was panting, breathless, and Fingon was still thrusting into him. His hand was gripping the wall so hard he no longer felt the cold at all. 

"I am free of you, freed from you, and you shall not touch me again!" Maedhros went on, his voice gaining strength and power. "Only my sword shall find your heart, Foul One, Corrupter, Liar Eternal! I defy you and all your works, and my hand shall never cease to frustrate all your plans!" 

Fingon's hand returned to his cock, and stroked him quickly, smoothly, once, twice, and again. With a loud wordless cry everything inside Maedhros soared into a crescendo of feeling and he came hard, blacking out from the sheer force of it. In his last instant of consciousness he felt Fingon's low groan behind him, and his arms around him, steadying him. 

When Maedhros opened his eyes, after drifting for a long while in a warm ecstatic bliss, he was lying down on the thick blanket with Fingon beside him, curled into his side, smiling down at him. They looked at each other for a long happy moment, and then Maedhros could not resist the laughter that welled up inside of him. 

"The Lord of Himring may find that he has developed a reputation for shouting wild invectives against the Dark Power from the topmost tower of his keep," Fingon said, through his giggles. "Some may call him mad."

Maedhros was too happy to have much of an opinion about that. "What do you call it?" he asked Fingon. 

"I call it being alive," Fingon said. "I call it being defiant." He bent and nuzzled against Maedhros' shoulder, and Maedhros, wrapping an arm around him, could not help but agree.


End file.
